


The Curse of the Frengalian Fungus

by lornesgoldenhair



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Aphrodisiacs, F/M, Mushrooms, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3825499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lornesgoldenhair/pseuds/lornesgoldenhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara is acting strangely and the Doctor realises its most probably due to a nasty infection thanks to the Frengalian Fungus, a powerful aphrodisiac. With her behaviour escalating he must keep her safe and resist his own urges, neither of which is proving easy. Whouffaldi. M.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My very first Doctor Who fanfic ‘Feverish’ featured a nasty virus called the Frengalian Flu. Sadly humans are immune so I had to find something else with which to infect Clara for this story… so it seemed appropriate that the Fungus come from the same planet. Please note this isn’t a sequel or a prequel, more of a reworking of the same idea.

  1.        Day One. Approx. Four Hours Since Infection.



He knew he shouldn’t have taken her to that planet. Oh how many thoughts relating to Clara had started with those words? But sneaking a look at her now, curled somewhat uncomfortably at the end of one elegant library couch he was even more certain it had been a mistake. He lowered his book a fraction more and watched her chew her lower lip, a tiny frown developing between her brows. She wriggled and briefly shut her eyes before quite purposefully flexing the spine of her book and forcing her attention to it again.

She was definitely infected. Maybe. Probably. Or she could just be uncomfortable. Maybe she had a cramp.

She shut her eyes again and pressed her lips together hard, unfurled her legs from under her and tried crossing them, shifted in the seat just a little too firmly.

No, she was infected.

He lifted the book again to cover his face and tried to think what to do. Maybe, this being Clara, her superior powers of control freakishness would stop the infection in its tracks. No mere spores could tell Clara Oswald how to behave. Maybe it would be fine. She’d just… ride it out.

An image crossed his mind. Something to do with Clara and riding. He felt a bit warm.

Was he infected too?

No, it hadn’t reached him. Had it?

The Doctor thought back to that afternoon’s trip. Clara, keen to brighten up her room on the TARDIS had insisted he take her to some sort of intergalactic garden centre to pick some flowers and potted herbs. Some for her bedroom, some for the kitchen so she could experiment with more cooking. With nothing else planned and no impending wars, disasters or aliens to distract them, he had agreed, touching down a little while later on Julient III, an arboretum of a planet from pole to pole, rich in many millions of imported and home grown plants shrubs and trees, exotic flowers and strange water flora. Bright colours and pleasant smells had her intoxicated and he had to admit he was slightly intoxicated by her smile as she plucked samples of vegetation and took cuttings for posterity.

He just hadn’t meant for her to get actually…well… intoxicated.

He should have spotted it.

It was bright blue, he didn’t really have an excuse for _not_ spotting it. Unfortunately however Clara spotted it first.

‘What’s that?!’ she exclaimed, eyes wide, one arm full of her floral bundle and the other outstretched in the direction of the gigantic blue mushroom. At least three foot high and just as wide it stood to almost chest height on her, its umbrella shaped dome gently pulsing and on top of it a round red sphere the size of a football which resembled a cherry on a bakewell tart. It was a ridiculous looking plant and he knew immediately what it was.

He should have stopped her then. He had a few seconds where he could have but he hung back just a fraction too long. Doctor Idiot. He knew the consequences. If he had had any kind of sense he would have stopped her then before…

‘Look at this!’ she prodded the red balloon and it contracted away from her, ‘isn’t it funny, it looks like its breathing. Is it breathing? I mean is it a sentient mushroom…? Oh!’

Too late.

The bladdery sphere having shrunk back into the dome of the blue fungus suddenly erupted outwards again and sprayed Clara with a clear viscous liquid infused with tiny golden particles.

Well when he thought about it, it more spurted. But he couldn’t use the word spurted in a sentence with words like ‘over’ and ‘Clara’ because it made him feel a bit funny. So he stuck with sprayed. It _sprayed_ Clara with its… liquid… and she leapt backwards, her flowers and herbs flying from her arms and scattering around her. Quickly she wiped her face in horror with both hands.

‘Oh my God! Oh my _God_!’ she cried, ‘It… it…. Did you see that?’

‘Umm.’

‘That’s disgusting… that…’ she paused and ran her tongue over her lips and he stared at her in horror.

‘Clara! No!’

‘It’s quite nice actually. Sort of sweet and tangy. Is it like nectar?’

He remembered shutting his eyes in a mixture of resigned despair and another emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge.

‘Sort of…’ he said non-comittally.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ I’m the one with the alien goop over my face.’

He looked at her and swallowed. ‘Yes… um… right well we’d better head back.’

But Clara had rallied. ‘Oh I’ll be fine, worse things have happened when we’re visiting places, I’ll just wipe it off and then we can…’

‘No, no I think we should go,’ he replied more firmly, ‘Let you wash it off properly.’

‘A bit of goop doesn’t usually offend you so much,’ she teased. ‘You were covered in digested human inside that dalek and you just sonicked it off and carried it on. What’s the big deal? Sonic me. Or I’ll just wipe it on my cardi… I can get a new one…’

‘No. I mean… well it…’ he thought quickly and decided prudish was the way to go, ‘It’s unsightly Clara, I can’t take you into the market looking like that, what will people think?’

She’d rolled her eyes at him but he’d persuaded her to return to the ship, deep down she did like to be clean and orderly, so they’d returned. And then he’d instructed the TARDIS to lock the doors and keep her safe until he could be sure that any effects from the fungus had passed. He didn’t want any of the alien garden centre employees or indeed clientele seeing her so… indisposed. They might try to take advantage and that made him feel… well it wasn’t a feeling he dealt with very well.

He really thought she might have got away with it though when three hours later she’d looked perfectly normal, peacefully reading in the library after an uneventful shared meal. He really thought she might have some incredible immunity to the spores that he’d never come across before. But that was at least an hour ago and a lot can happen in sixty minutes.

Was she really infected…?

He looked over the edge of his book again just to check. Maybe he’d imagined it. Maybe she was fine.

Clara’s profile was visible against the warmth of the fire, all long lashes and arched brows and funny little nose.

And parted lips.

And flushed cheeks.

She suddenly shut her eyes and made a tiny little noise in her throat.

Oh dear.

‘Clara? Are you alright?’ he ventured.

She snapped her book shut and looked up at him startled.

‘Yes, fine,’ she squeaked.

‘You just seem a bit… tense.’

‘Tense? Who’s tense? I’m not tense,’ she rushed. They held each other’s gaze for a moment and he watched as her chest rose and fell more rapidly than usual. She was the first to look away, shifting again in her seat and staring at the fire intently. If he listened he was sure he’d hear her heartbeat escalating.

‘You’re a bit on edge,’ he observed.

‘No I’m not... I’m fine,’ she growled. ‘Relaxed even.’ There was just the faintest hint of hysteria in her voice now.

‘OK,’ he said quietly and went back to his reading. He kept half an eye on her subtly wriggling form and after a few minutes it seemed she couldn’t stand it anymore. She stood suddenly, casting a wary eye in his direction. He declined to react and was aware of her opening her mouth to say something, make some excuse and leave. He decided it best not to acknowledge her awkward stance or flushed cheeks or look at her in any lingering manner for the sake of her increasing embarrassment.

‘I’m having an early night,’ she said finally, quickly.

‘Sleep well,’ he said and she was out of the door.

The Doctor leaned back in his seat. Poor Clara. So began literally days of torturous sexual arousal thanks to the Frengalian Fungus. He’d been infected once himself before many centuries ago when he had naively stumbled across the interesting looking plant and been caught unawares by its sporing reflex. He too had been drenched in what Clara had described as its ‘nectar’ and remembered the sweet tangy taste she had described only too well. He’d got quite the mouthful of it.

He also remembered the week that followed and the constant litany of inappropriate thoughts that went through his head. The almost non stop erotic desire and the severe case of priapism which had meant he was trapped on board the TARDIS for the entire seven days. He knew exactly what she was about to go through, exactly what she was going through now. The confusion as to where the feelings were coming from, the shock at the intrusive sexual thoughts about people she would never otherwise have considered attractive, the way her body would feel totally beyond her own control and her compulsion to relieve the ever present tension in her…

The Doctor stopped mid thought. Gods. He’d been stuck in his room for a week doing that. Now she was stuck in her room doing the same. She was in there now. He mustn’t think about it, it was none of his business. She was infected, it wasn’t her fault, she’d be horribly embarrassed if she thought he knew. He made an internal vow not to let on. As far as he was concerned she was unwell in there and with gentlemanly understanding he would leave her be until the symptoms passed and not make her feel any worse about her tumultuous hormones and overpowering arousal.

He lifted his book and read a few sentences.

The memory of her tiny frown and the little sound she had made prodded at his consciousness.

He chewed his lip as she had.

Stop that.

He got up and left the library, he needed distracting. He should find something to occupy his time while Clara was indisposed. He was sure he could find an upgrade to install or a piece of complex equipment to repair somewhere in the bowels of the ship. He would focus his mind and the days would pass more easily.

Half way down the corridor to the control room a sound stopped him in his tracks. He glanced to his left and found the door to Clara’s bed room, a door which had previously been situated much further down the passage but which the TARDIS seemed to have helpfully moved to block his way. He was about to chide her when the sound came again. A very distinct, feminine and very needy moan.

It shot though his body like electricity. His mouth opened of its own accord and hesitantly he placed a hand on the door, leaning in to listen just a little closer. He kidded himself it was out of concern.

There it was again. Long, low, pleasurable. The charged tingle in his belly dipped lower in response to it. He tried to pull away from the door, leave her in peace, but something held him still.

‘Ohh…’

He shut his eyes.

‘Yes… just there…. Ohhh that’s so good.’

Gods she really was doing what he thought she was doing. He shouldn’t be listening. This was a terrible breach of trust. He should walk away right now.

‘Doctor….’

His eyes flew open and he leapt back from the door half expecting her to be standing there scowling at him. It took a second to realise she hadn’t discovered him listening at all but rather was still inside the room, still doing what she was doing… and saying his name. There had to be some mistake. This was the Fungus. He was the nearest male of any half compatible species so the spores had focused her attention on him. Poor Clara, she’d be mortified when this wore off, just mortified.

He stood fidgeting outside the door.

‘Oh Doctor,’ her voice sounded more urgent now, ‘Oh God, please, I need you... Oh… I’m close…’

He felt a fluttering below the belt of his trousers and a tight sensation, an ache building steadily into a throb. He shoved his hands in his pockets and bit his lip. He rocked on his heels a couple of times and then began pushing one hand through his hair in agitation. He could still hear her behind the door, her excitement quite clearly peaking and his name still falling from her lips. His heartbeats tripled and he felt heat come to his cheeks. He wanted to leave but couldn’t, he wanted to go in there but he wouldn’t dare. He was absolutely stuck.

Behind the door Clara’s climax hit her and she let out a sudden cry. For a moment he stood transfixed, lips parted, his tongue poised between them and then as her moans settled again he caught himself, his breath a little ragged and his arousal uncomfortable. If she was to open the door now and come out of the room what on Gallifrey would she think?

He turned and scuttled down the corridor, no longer in the direction of the console room but towards his own private quarters.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

   Day 2 Approx. Eighteen Hours Since Infection

 

The following morning he didn’t expect to see Clara at all. By now she would be in the throes of the Fungus’ powers, in a state of near constant arousal, her whole physiology geared to… acts of reproduction.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

He put down his coffee cup and wiped his forehead. He really was beginning to wonder if he’d been close enough to have some of the spores affect him. Perhaps they’d transferred from Clara as they’d walked back to the TARDIS. Maybe the shower room hadn’t decontaminated properly after she’d used it?

Clara in the shower. Wet. Wet and aroused probably.

Stop it.

He had to be infected. It was the only thing it could be. He wouldn’t usually feel so out of control and he certainly wouldn’t be having so many inappropriate thoughts about his pretty human companion.

Would he?

He passed his hand over his face. He was in denial. There was no way he could have been infected. It was just that seeing her like this, worse, _hearing_ her, was tapping into things he’d known about for ages but tried to ignore. He was absolutely besotted with her. He adored her, dare he say it he even loved her. From her huge brown eyes to her control freak personality he worshipped Clara Oswald.

And he desired her too.

But she would never, ever desire him so he had buried that part of things deep and focused instead on her just being there. On her company and their friendship and all the wholesome elements of that he could still enjoy even if he did look older and acted grumpier and she no longer found him remotely attractive. And that was fine when she was acting normally, when there was no hint in her behaviour of any desire for him.

Her voice rang in his ears from memory, her low moan and his name dripping from her lips. That had really brought it home to him. Just how good it would be to hear her do that lying beneath him, or straddling his lap, or pressed up against the wall while he held her in his arms and …

‘No!’ he said aloud.

‘No?’ Clara entered the kitchen cautiously, her dressing gown wrapped tight around her. She looked tired, nervous but strangely… alert. ‘No what?’

He swallowed and drew his cup to him, fiddled with it, avoided her gaze. He didn’t know who was more embarrassed her or him. She shifted her weight to her other foot and looked about her uncertainly before pouring a cup for herself.

‘No nothing…’ he said at last.

‘OK,’ she sat down on the opposite side of the breakfast bar and toyed with her coffee. An awkward silence lingered. A strand of hair fell across her face and she puffed it out of the way with her breath. The Doctor stared at her lips for a moment too long. She glanced up and caught him and immediately blushed, a stunningly pink glow right across her face that made her seemed altogether unnaturally heated and desirous. He caught her gaze and her pupils blew, doubling in size as he watched. Clara swallowed nervously and then hid her face in her cup. He looked away.

‘Sleep well?’ he asked. It seemed a normal thing to ask. He asked her every morning, more or less. It’s what humans did, ask repetitive questions out of courtesy. She’d been trying to teach him about courtesy and manners, he was making an effort to please her.

‘Mm,’ she squeaked in reply, ‘Slept great. Slept solidly from the moment I went to bed until about five minutes ago. Fast asleep. No trouble getting off….’

He looked at her quickly.

‘I mean _dropping off_ , no trouble dropping off,’ she corrected and her face burned. She looked like she hadn’t slept a wink.

Oh Gods she’d been doing it all night. _All night_. Thinking about _him_. This was very possibly more than he could bear. More than any man could bear, even one as advanced as him. Even Time Lords had limits.

Clara gulped her coffee down. ‘So what’s the plan today?’ she asked.

‘I thought we’d take a day off from planets,’ he said.

‘What? Why?’

‘Thought you might appreciate… a rest,’ he said carefully. ‘Spend a few days doing whatever you need to do to… recuperate… from all the um… well planet visiting…’

She looked at him and then down at the breakfast bar.

Just go with it Clara, just say thank you Doctor I am a bit tired, I’d like a few days off, and go back to your room and wait out the Fungus Spores.

But Clara being Clara couldn’t accept this gift.

‘You know don’t you,’ she said, face still burning and eyes averted. ‘You know I’m… I’m…. having some difficulties.’

‘I…’ he started about to keep up his façade and try to ease her shame, but she looked up at him with such a look of desperation in her eyes that he closed his mouth and then started again. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to make anything of it, I didn’t want you to be embarrassed.’

‘Was it that blue mushroom, its… goop?’ she asked.

‘Yes, it’s a Frengalian Fungus. That ‘goop’ is one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs known to the universe.’

Clara slumped onto the breakfast bar, her head in her hands, ‘Oh God what am I going to do? How long does it last? I’ve been awake all night! I can’t… I can’t stop…. I can’t get…’

‘I know,’ he said rapidly before she described her predicament in any more graphic terms, ‘It will pass, I promise… I was infected once…’

‘You?’ she looked up at him strangely hopeful.

‘Yes me.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did you do?’ she asked.

‘What do you think I did,’ he said a bit defensively and blushed. He hated blushing.

‘Does it affect Time Lords the same way?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh…’ her thoughts drifted a little, ‘You mean you had to… just like I have had to… gosh that’s quite the image….’

The Doctor cleared his throat.

‘Sorry,’ she said. She wriggled on her stool and pressed her lips together. They looked redder than normal, fuller, he struggled to take his eyes from them. But he had to do the right thing here, he loved her, he had to protect her from herself. She was clearly thinking things she shouldn’t, imagining things she had no usual predilection to imagine. Things involving him. She pulled her lower lip through her teeth and then passed her tongue over it. She should stop that. Immediately.

‘Clara?’ he said a little sharply.

‘Hmm,’ she said her eyes roaming over his face, he noticed them dip to his jumper, and to the tiny little holes through which his skin showed. That thing with her tongue again.

Concentrate!

‘As the spores progress you will find it harder and harder to think rationally,’ he said, deciding he would play his usual role of Knowledge Bearer, ‘You won’t be in total control of your thoughts or desires. You might think you want things you don’t, you might act quite out of character. I want you to know that… that…’

‘That?’ she breathed. Clara leaned forward on the breakfast bar and her robe fell open slightly. She was wearing nothing beneath it. The Doctor dragged his eyes back to her face, her warm breath hitting his cheeks.

‘That you can trust me,’ he said and received a purr back from her.

‘I know I can trust you,’ she said softly, ‘You’re my Doctor,’ she paused to reach up and place her index finger on his nose briefly, ‘Do you trust me…?’ she asked.

She was so close he could catch her scent warm and musky with arousal, rising from within her robe, from her skin. He closed his eyes and inhaled, leaning forward in his seat mesmerised. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice a low growl that surprised even him, ‘I mean…. Wait…’

Clara raised her eyebrows. ‘You _don’t_ trust me?’ she said playfully.

‘I trust _you_ I just don’t trust the Fungus. You have to be careful Clara, it will have you acting peculiarly.’

She giggled at him, ‘I’m not out of my mind yet Doctor I’m just a bit… a bit… well… _very_ … ‘

‘Aroused?’ he asked unable to help himself.

‘Aroused,’ she confirmed. Clara gave him a look that conveyed a very particular need and he felt butterflies erupt in his guts. Then to his mixed horror and excitement she winked at him. He blinked back owlishly.

‘Clara is there something wrong with your eye?’ he asked.

‘No, silly,’ and she started crawling over the breakfast bar. Actually hoisting herself onto the surface and pushing the coffee cups out of the way. They clattered to the floor and spilt their contents as she reached for his shoulders.

‘Clara!’ he sprang up from the stool and she slung her arms around his neck, kneeling now on the bar and looking into his eyes.

‘Yes…’ she replied, her robe slipping further open so that he could clearly see the edges of her breasts and a smooth expanse of pale skin trailing down to her… Gods she really had _nothing_ on under there.

‘Clara stop!’

She grinned and leaned in towards him, her lips parting and her eyes fixed on his mouth. He felt the heat of her abdomen radiate through his clothing, the scent of her really intoxicating now and her face so close to him.

‘Kiss me,’ she said.

‘Clara you’re not yourself!’

‘I’m your Clara…’

He leaned away from her but worried she’d topple off the bar so ended up braced at a rather painful angle and wedged between the stool and the table she knelt on. He almost lost his balance and automatically grabbed her hips to steady himself. The robe pulled apart.

‘Mmm that’s it,’ she praised him.

‘Clara, stop this now!’

‘But you’re my friend…’ she said innocently, ‘My best and closest friend. And I’ve got this problem… and you always help with my problems…. So I need you to help me with this one.’ She reached down and took one of his hands, sliding it firmly across her hip and under the fallen edge of her robe. He yelped.

‘Touch me,’ she said confidently, leaning in so she could instruct him further. Her breath tickled his ear and he shut his eyes against her. She guided his hand onto her belly, pushed his fingers down to touch the soft hair at the top of her mound. His knees felt wobbly. ‘Please…’ she half panted.

And he felt her tongue trail around his earlobe.

Oh no. He was caving…

He pushed back a little too hard, let go of her body and half toppled over the stool. Clara caught herself on the bar and knelt there on all fours glaring at him. She looked absolutely feral.

He wanted her.

But he wouldn’t do it.

‘You are useless!’ she erupted suddenly, her eyes flashing at him dangerously. Oh no, he’d forgotten this could happen. The Fungus Spores were powerful things, if the desire they caused wasn’t satisfied they played hell with the emotions. ‘Would it really be so difficult?’ she blasted, ‘Is it such a bloody chore? You haven’t had sex for about a thousand years! What’s the matter with you? I thought you’d be leaping on me by now. What is it? Am I not good enough for your superior Time Lord libido? Am I not enough? Would I never keep up?’

‘Clara please….’

‘Or are you worried _you_ wouldn’t keep up?’ she yelled, ‘Too old and grey for it now are you? Doesn’t it work anymore now you’re two thousand? Are you past it?’

The words stung like a slap. If he hadn’t fallen over the stool and away from her she looked like she _would_ slap him.

‘Clara, you’re infected, I’d be taking advantage…’ it sounded weak even to him.

‘Oh that’s just pathetic! Taking advantage? You are so patronising! I can decide for myself who to have sex with Fungus or no Fungus!’

‘Clara….’

She leapt down from the breakfast bar and dramatically closed her robe with a flourish. ‘Well have it your way. How long does this fungus thing last anyway… ?’

He fidgeted awkwardly with the buttons on his jacket.

‘How long?’ she yelled.

Hesitantly he pulled the sonic from his coat and aimed it at her. It glowed and buzzed and then produced a reading.

‘Um…. Another three days give or take… that’s good news Clara,’ he said quickly when she glared at him again, ‘I mean you must only have ingested a little of it… often it lasts much longer…’

‘Three days?!’

He took an involuntary step backwards.

‘Three days and you… _my best friend_ … the one _man_ I trust… won’t help me… Great! Marvellous!’ she threw her arms up.

‘Clara it’s not that I don’t want to help,’ he confessed softly, ‘Our friendship… I just don’t think it would be…’

‘You’re scared,’ she snapped over him, ‘You’re scared and pathetic and you don’t deserve to call yourself a man. Well I don’t care anymore. I can get through this without you. So you just go and tinker with your machinery, or play with your screwdriver or something and I’ll sort this out _alone_ … trust a man to let you down. If a girl wants something doing she just has to get on with it herself.’

And she stormed out of the kitchen.

The atmosphere seemed to take a few minutes to settle and then the Doctor heard a door further down the corridor slam shut. He winced. He was only trying to do the right thing. He would hate her to recover from the Fungus only to be filled with regret for her behaviour and horror that her closest friend had taken advantage of her predicament. She’d see that when she was well again, she had too. She _would_ see that, wouldn’t she?

He chewed on a fingernail. In the meantime Clara was right about something. He did feel pathetic.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

       Day Three. Thirty nine hours Since Infection.

It was probably time to get up. Not that he’d been sleeping. No, he’d been lying in bed fully clothed thinking about Clara all night and feeling… uncomfortable. The TARDIS had unhelpfully moved her room closer to his and he was being periodically tormented by various noises filtering through the air ducts to his sensitive Time Lord ears. And it wasn’t restful. It wasn’t restful at all. He didn’t do much sleeping in general but he really wished he could now, fall fast asleep and stay that way until the Fungus had passed and Clara was normal again.

She’d been awake all night too that much was obvious but in the last twenty minutes or so it had gone quiet. Maybe she had finally worn herself out, maybe the Fungus was losing the battle with her immune system. He closed his eyes and willed time to pass.

And then the TARDIS alarms sounded and the lights flashed red in time with the sirens and the Doctor flung his covers back and raced for the console room. He could really do without Daleks or Sontarians or Cybermen right now. For a start his concentration wasn’t at its best at the moment.

He burst into the room. Clara was leaning over the console with her hand on one of the levers and her eyes fixed on the monitor. A simple white dress was tied loosely round her middle and her hair was in considerable disarray. Her eyes looked glassy and her face flushed. Carefully, as though approaching a wild and unpredictable animal, he began to creep closer to her, hands outstretched to ward off any unsuitable advances.

‘Clara?’

‘Get away!’

‘What are you doing? A few more paces and he tried to see what she was looking at on the screen.

‘Flying your stupid box somewhere where I can get what I need.’

‘What?!’

‘Except she won’t let me!’ she cried indignantly. ‘Girls are supposed to stick together you stupid chunk of intergalactic steel!’

‘Where were you going?’ he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

‘Rome,’ she said as though it was obvious, ‘For an orgy… and don’t’ tell me you’ve never done it because I know you have!’

‘I wasn’t under the influence of a Fungus!’

‘Then that’s even worse! You just went because you fancied some fun, I have a medical condition that needs treatment!’

‘Clara you can’t go to Rome.’

‘I’m a grown woman. A grown woman with _needs_. Needs I can’t get fulfilled on this ship because my so called friend won’t help me.’

That stinging feeling inside him again. Why did her words hurt so much at the moment?

‘Clara, be sensible, attending a Roman orgy in your condition…’

‘…I need to attend something!’ she said desperately. ‘I need… I need…’

She turned suddenly and stared at him, the expression on her face made his head swim.

‘What do you need?’ he asked quietly.

‘I need… I need a _man_ ,’ she turned back to the screen and began typing, ‘You won’t do it so I need to find someone who will…. There!’ she exclaimed.

‘Where?’

‘There, if I can’t go to Rome I’m going here, it even sounds Roman. Pontius Civilcius….’

‘No!’

‘Yes!’

‘No Clara you are not going there.’

‘It’s exactly what I need.’

‘I refuse to take you to a planet whose economy is almost entirely financed by male brothels.’

‘Think of the choice? The endless variety!’ she squealed.

‘Clara you’ve lost your mind!’

‘Fine, I’ll go to Rome then,’ she snapped.

She punched co-ordinates into the navigation system and he lunged forward just as her hand tugged the lever, his fingers closing over hers. Spinning her in his arms he managed to drag her away from the controls but not before the TARDIS groaned around them. He looked up at the rotor in horror as it turned and the ship took off.

‘What are you doing? I was trying to stop her not help her fly you!’

‘Take your hands off me!’ Clara squealed. She wriggled against him in her skimpy white dress and he tried to redirect his thoughts from her clearly erect nipples and the way they rubbed against his body. He grasped her wrists and she kicked against him like an angry little foal, cursing him and glaring with her big brown eyes. There was something incredibly erotic about her struggle and she seemed to realise it just as he did. Her movements became oddly more deliberate and provocative, they slowed against him and she ground her pelvis into his. The Doctor shut his eyes against her tantalising image as her anger dissipated and turned into desire. He couldn’t keep up with the changing seasons of her emotions right now.

‘Hurt me,’ she whispered.

Oh Gods.

She tugged feebly against his grip, ‘Oh Doctor you’re right, I’ve been very… very bad. You were right to stop me,’ she made a needy little noise in her throat, ‘Oh, tell me I’ve been bad, tell me I’m a naughty girl…’

He wasn’t looking. He wasn’t listening. No, not listening, not listening to her breathy voice whispering in his ear. Not following helplessly as she walked backwards to the console her wrists still in his hands, pulling him with her, pulling him down so that he was pinning her to the control panel. His grip tightened involuntarily, and his weight settled on her and suddenly he was between her thighs, her strong little legs wrapping around his hips and her body squirming under him. She moved her arms so that they were over her head and whimpered, actually whimpered with need.

‘I’ve been so bad, trying to steal your TARDIS,’ she said against his ear, ‘I should think you need to teach me a lesson for that,’ he felt her chew her lip and then her tongue slid along the skin of his neck, before she nipped at him softly. He tried to will away the sensation in his groin but it was too late, he tried to pull away but she’d noticed.

‘Oh Doctor, at last…’ she murmured and pushed up against his growing erection, ‘You’re not so past it after all, that was horrible of me wasn’t it, I was so mean to you,’ she ground her hips into his and his breath caught, ‘Tell me I was bad, tell me…’

‘You were bad,’ he moaned before he could stop himself.

‘Oh yes I was…’ the excitement rich in her voice now, ‘Tell me again.’

‘Clara…’

‘Tell me…’

‘Stop…’

She chuckled. ‘Would you prefer to _show me_ that I’m bad,’ her tongue just below his ear again, where his silver hair curled against his skin. ‘Would you…?’

‘Yes…’ almost inaudible.

She wriggled out of his grip, an easy task as he had little willpower to stop her, and reached for his belt, unclasping it quickly and grabbing the zipper of his trousers. She was fast and focused and it was only when her hand brushed against his skin, when her fingers strove to release him from his boxers that he leapt away from her and scrabbled to set himself to rights.

‘Clara!’

‘Oh come _on_!’ she growled in frustration.

‘No!’ he stepped backwards as he refastened his belt, buttoning his jacket as an extra safety measure.

‘You can’t leave me like this!’ she cried, half sprawled on the console.

‘Can’t you just… you know…’ he gestured vaguely between her legs and she glowered at him, ‘Just… you know… yourself…’

‘It’s not working! I need more!’

He hesitated. She really was working herself into quite a state, he’d never seen anything like it, all wild eyes and heated skin and desperation. It was affecting him in ways he hadn’t felt for hundreds of years. Maybe… well… maybe her request wasn’t entirely unreasonable. She’d be safe with him, he cared for her so much, he wanted to please her, he’d wanted to please her for so long. She’d be better with him than throwing herself at a stranger in her spore-adled state. And besides he was a Time Lord, he had stamina and skill and hundreds of years of experience in pleasuring women, he was absolutely up to the task in hand, he could do things to her that would have her coming apart in moments, begging him, pleading with him to do it again, and again. He was just what she needed, not a human male with their limited abilities but a Time Lord with superior physiology and anatomy.

He mentally slapped himself.

Think with your head not your superior anatomy.

The TARDIS made landing noises and suddenly both of them were fully focused once more. Both sets of eyes turned to the door but it was Clara who raised her fingers and snapped them. The doors flew open.

‘Touch down,’ she said, stepping sideways so that she was between the exit and him, ‘Destination…. Rome…’

‘Clara,’ he said warningly.

Another slow side step and she was right before the door. He could see she was bracing herself to take off and knew that she had not only a few feet head start but youth and speed on her side. Time Lord Anatomy or not Clara could move when she needed to he knew that, she’d out run quite a few aliens, including him.

‘Either you help me,’ she said, ‘Or…’ and she cocked her head towards the scene beyond the TARDIS. His eyes followed, taking in the sandy coloured walls, an erotic mosaic and a glimpse of a sideboard decorated with exquisite ancient ceramics. But it was the noises which reached his ears that worried him most. The sound of music, laughter, general rowdiness and the occasional distinctive and punctuating moan of pleasure.

She had navigated straight to the centre of the orgy it seemed. No time to waste. He clicked his fingers and the doors shut.

Clara opened them again.

He shut them.

She took a step backwards and opened them.

‘Clara!’

‘Well?’

‘I…’

‘Coward!’ she announced, ‘Coward!’ and she turned on her heel, hitching her skirts up and running from the ship.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

       Day Three Approx 40 Hours since Infection. Rome, 80 AD

He hadn’t counted on the bouncers. It seemed that a skimpily dressed pretty young lady could join the orgy at any time but when the Doctor tried to step out of the TARDIS in pursuit of a feverish Clara he had been immediately stopped by two rather large men with spears. These apparently were the Roman equivalent of doormen, their main objection to him joining the activities being his outfit. He had been firmly rotated, told he ‘should know better given his status,’ a statement which would normally give him pause if he hadn’t been so distracted, and marched back down the corridor in the direction of his concealed ship. He had then been forced to rummage through the TARDIS wardrobe for something suitably empire-esque. Having eventually settled on a pale blue tunic and darker cloak adorned with suitable clasps he re-emerged into the villa.

There was no telling where Clara was by now and his hearts sank bilaterally as he headed in the direction of the bulk of the party’s noise. Rounding a corner he came upon a large square area, open to the sky and surrounded by walls decorated with more of the tiles and mosaics he had spied on leaving the TARDIS. Some he had to admit were quite breathtaking in their artistry, not to mention the imagination employed in depicting the scenes of copulation and self… manipulation… which reflected the goings on in the centre of the room. In alcoves he also spotted sculptures of similar activities. Clearly this part of the house had been more or less designed for events such as these.

The Doctor cast an eye over the various bodies strewn over furniture and cushions, an equal mix of men and women, paired, tripled, bound up in small groups and in various states of undress as they lavished stimulation upon the opposite and same sexes. There was a great deal of oil involved he noted, and various fruits and wines added to the mix. He was also fairly sure that more potent concoctions were being brewed and distributed too and that the experience of the revellers was most probably being heightened by a number of psychotropic substances.

For the tiniest moment he envied them, all bare flesh and unrestrained arousal. His mind ticked back a few centuries to a Rome he had visited long ago and a forty eight hour Bacchanalian orgy he had participated in then. Different body of course. Younger. And he’d had a partner to share in the revelry, to watch as she mesmerised the men around her, who begged to please her. It had made him proud, the beautiful creature who had been his wife, a free spirit taking full part in the events around her but ultimately his. Those days were long gone and he felt suddenly lonely. The last time he’d been in Roman Italy he’d been with Donna and that hadn’t quite been the same.

He couldn’t spot Clara and all around him humans were engaging in their pleasure. Somewhere in here Clara was doing it too, with a stranger, possibly with multiple strangers, and when the Fungus wore off she’d be horrified. Well at least he thought she would be horrified, sometimes Clara surprised him. But he didn’t take her for an impromptu orgy kind of girl. The Doctor cut through the pile of undulating bodies and headed for the chambers of the homeowner beyond the main room.

He could hear her before he saw her, covered from his sight by the muslin drapes which fenced off a more private area for the owners of the house should they prefer it. Clearly Clara, with her very particular beauty, had caught the eye of the party’s host and quickly been led to this den. Well he could understand their interest in her but that didn’t mean he would tolerate it. The Doctor set his jaw and found his teeth grinding uncomfortably together as her moans emanated from behind the curtain. Moans rapidly followed by a deep and somewhat familiar voice.

‘You did right to visit here,’ the male voice was saying, albeit a little breathlessly, ‘A beautiful woman like you should never fail to have her needs met…’

‘You’re telling me,’ Clara panted so that the Doctor could almost hear each thrust. He edged closer to the curtain, the light behind it illuminating a silhouette within, Clara’s slim figure atop an unknown man, pulling herself high in his arms and then pushing down with a soft grunt. He didn’t know whether to be aroused or enraged by this erotic sight, but there was certainly a mixture of both emotions in his hearts now as he listened to her breath quicken and watched the man’s arms come up to steady her.

‘Oh, that’s it, that’s what I needed…’ she was saying.

‘Anything you need…’ the man replied.

‘Deeper!’

The Doctor passed a hand over his face in mortification. Honestly since she’d been infected she seemed to have become both in private, and now with this unknown host, altogether too descriptive of her activities.

‘More that’s it, I need more of you, oh you feel good…’

He was going to have to stop this. But then once again he was torn. Oh he really didn’t understand human feelings sometimes, or indeed his own and the best course of action was eluding him. Maybe this was what she needed after all. No strings attached intercourse with a total stranger. A place to let out her needs and be fulfilled without the complicating factor of their friendship. A place where love and sex were separate and the Fungus could get its fill of directing her actions without heartbreaking consequences for her. At the most she’d feel a bit guilty for a while, a bit shocked by her activities, but she wouldn’t be hurt emotionally, would she? So maybe he should leave her there, maybe he should let her finish, get it out of her system, feel physically better at least. Objectively that could be the right thing to do.

He hovered by the curtain a moment longer.

But she was in there with another man. And that didn’t feel right. In fact it felt awful.

Things were hotting up behind the curtain and he got the distinct impression that if he delayed much longer Clara’s body would bring itself to its own conclusions about what was right. He watched as her silhouette lifted its hands to massage her own breasts and the man ran his fingers through her hair, down her back, gripped her thighs and helped her to move faster against him. The Doctor felt a charge of hatred shred through him and a burst of jealous thought condemn the man for touching ‘his Clara’ in that way.

‘Say my name,’ the man was saying, his voice punctuated by heaving breaths. ‘Say it for me, tell me who you ride…’

Who said things like that anyway? The man was obviously a pompous self important…

‘Caecilius. Lucius Caecilius…’

The Doctor’s brows shot up, he knew that name.

‘Beautiful Clara,’ Caecilius moaned and Clara let out a strangled little groan which sent little shots of arousal straight to the Doctor’s groin. She was close and he was damned if that Roman was going to take her there.

He stepped forward and tore back the curtain, ‘Clara!’ he admonished.

Clara squeaked in shock and automatically covered her breasts with her arms while Caecilius clasped her hips to him suddenly and sat up, storm blue eyes wide.

‘What is wrong with you man, can you not wait your turn, she’s a feisty little thing with plenty energy I’m sure we could….’

He stopped and stared at the Doctor, at his mirror image, his mouth opening slightly. His hair was shorter, slightly darker, and his face a modicum fuller than the Doctor’s but for all intents and purposes they were the same.

But the Doctor was already ahead of him on that one, memories of the sculptor filtering back from his tenth incarnation. He was beginning to wish he’d deleted him from his mind but it explained the uneasy sense of déjà vu he got when he saw his own reflection.

‘I knew it!’ the Doctor said angrily, ‘I knew I’d seen my new face before, you, you… Pompeii man… what do you think you are doing with her?’

‘You look just like me…’ Caecilius wondered briefly before the awkward immediacy of his predicament distracted him once more, ‘Is she yours?’ he asked adjusting himself with difficulty.

‘Am I…? Clara cried, ‘How dare you I don’t belong to anyone!’

‘Forgive me but you wore the simple dress of a slave,’ Caecilius remarked gently.

‘I am not a slave!’ she pushed off him and retrieved said dress from the floor scrabbling to put it on and hide herself from the Doctor. Before she could tie it around the middle he had her by the arm and half dragged from the room. ‘Oi!’ she squealed.

‘Where are you going?’ Caecilius hopped up from the pile of cushions that had served as their bed and half draped his dusky pink tunic over his heated body, ’We hadn’t finished.’

‘You’re not going to finish!’ the Doctor spat at him.

‘If you cannot satisfy her that is not my problem,’ Caecilius remarked, ‘Such a show of jealousy is unwanted here, I would not prevent you from taking one of my girls should you desire it, not least because you and I…. Are we related?’ he queried his brows knitting, ‘My father had many a…’

‘Shut up!’ the Doctor snapped.

Caecilius smiled a little smugly and reached a friendly hand for the Doctor’s shoulder.

‘I understand friend… but you should take better care of her… she’s insatiable no? Perhaps she has worn you out?’ Caecilius chuckled to himself in an attempt to lighten the mood, ‘Come, stay, join us, drink, eat, relax amongst the women folk. Don’t take too personally any criticism she might make of you.’

‘Criticism?’

‘She told me you were not willing to service her… she is younger than you, perhaps she doesn’t understand the fatigue that comes with age. Believe me if it were not for the herbs in my tincture today I would not still be functioning and you have more white in your hair than I…’

The Doctor shot him an angry look that threatened to boil over into something much, much worse.

‘ I have some in my quarters,’ Caecilius continued cheerfully, ‘perhaps you would like to indulge, do not allow yourself to become frustrated or miss such an opportunity as this beautiful girl…’

‘Clara we’re leaving…’ the Doctor said sharply.

She wrenched her arm free of him. ‘I’m not going anywhere until…’

‘Until…?’

She twisted on the spot and tugged her fingers in her hair. She was breathless, flushed and sweating and had clearly been interrupted at an extremely inopportune moment.

Caecillius looked at her pityingly and then drew the Doctor to one side. ‘You should not leave her so unsatisfied, it will poison her from within. Please, let me…’

‘No!’

The Roman’s face fell and then morphed into one of judgement, ‘And you wonder why she runs from you into the arms of another. You give her nothing!’

‘I am protecting her!’

‘From what? Her own pleasure?’

‘Shut up both of you!’ Clara snapped. The identical men turned to face her. The glow of her cheeks had spread to her neck and chest and her eyes were damp with unshed tears. She was the picture of tormented frustration and the Doctor was reminded of his own rather unpleasant and lonely Fungus experience. He’d been on the verge of tears a few times with need. Feeling Caecilius’ eyes heavy on him he held out his hand in her direction.

‘Come with me, Clara,’

She sniffled and looked at him warily. ‘Please just let me stay, just for an hour, you’ve no idea, its agony…’

‘I know…’ he beckoned with his fingers, ‘Come.’

Reluctantly she took his hand and turned towards the exit of the little private chamber but he stopped her and pulled back, propelling her through the drapes to the cushions she had shared with his Roman twin. He sat her down and glared at Caecilius until he took the hint and left.

‘Why did you chose him?’ the Doctor asked her after a moment. His voice was perfectly kind and with no hint of accusation.

‘He felt familiar, _looked_ familiar,’ she said softly and he felt his face burn. Clara looked at him bashfully and then tried to brush the confession aside, ‘Maybe I just have a thing for older Italian men… oh I don’t know! Doctor I feel like I’m going insane, I can’t think straight, I’m angry at you and so angry at him for calling me a slave but it felt so good… all I want is… argh I don’t know!’ she let out a growl of frustration and rubbed at her eyes. She sounded like she might start sobbing. He shifted a little closer to her, nerves rife in his guts, but he couldn’t leave her like this it felt so cruel, and he couldn’t let _him_ , the imposter with the _face_ , see to her needs.

To top it all off when all this had started she’d been thinking about the Doctor not the Roman. This was becoming a matter of pride even if when she was well again she’d be thinking about neither of them.

His willing brain threw up a few more reasons why it might be alright.

It was just physiology. He would do this, and she’d feel better and they’d be able to move on. Their friendship could withstand this.

He tried to push the doubts to the back of his mind that their friendship might but he wasn’t sure if his heart could. Seeing her so open and close to him, watching her arousal, her climax, he wasn’t sure he could keep his feelings to himself. But he had to try. He placed one hand on her knee and watched as she drew breath subtly and closed her eyes. Slowly he pushed his palm upwards along her thigh and she let out a little moan.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t listen before,’ he said, ‘I do want to help, I want you to be safe, not mixed up with an orgy of untrustworthy romans.’

She smiled slightly. ‘Then… you’ll help me,’ she asked quietly.

‘Yes,’ he said.

Clara pressed her lips together and he sensed her pulse quicken. ‘Lie back,’ he said softly.

He thought she would lay against the cushions but to his surprise she turned slightly so that her back was to his chest and leaned there, her head on his shoulder, eyes closed. He shifted so that his legs were on either side of her. Hesitantly he slipped one arm around her waist and held her, wanting her to feel secure, and let his mouth fall to her hair, the sweet scent of her filling his lungs. With his other hand he continue to push up under her dress, trailing his long fingers along her inner thigh to where her skin was damp and hot between her legs. Clara moaned and wriggled against him, parting her thighs and he bit his lip in an effort not to respond.

‘Show me what you want,’ he said quietly, ‘Where it feels best, take my hand.’

Her fingers closed over his and he felt himself be guided, his fingertips sinking into the wet heat at her centre and her hand indicating a slow circular rhythm around the hard little nub he could feel under his middle finger. He pressed gently and then more firmly as she flinched with pleasure against him and her hips twitched of their own accord. Clara let out a shuddering breath and turned her head, pressed her lips against his neck and he thought for a moment his own arousal would get the better of him as he started to harden behind her. He shut his eyes and tried to will desire away, focus entirely on the way she was moving his hand, on mapping the parts of her that felt most satisfying but she was growing slicker and the friction of his digits was causing the most intensely erotic sound to rise from her wet folds, a commentary on the speed and direction of his movements for her pleasure. He realised with a sudden overwhelming image that he wanted to bury his face in her, drink from her, bring her crashing to orgasm with his mouth but he bit back, a fear that it would be a step too far and instead pressed his fingers to her entrance and heard her moan with need as he pushed inside.

Clara’s body tensed and bent forward a little as he began to work his fingertips over that swollen patch inside her. She couldn’t control her hips as his thumb continued to graze her clitoris, as he held her tight against him. He was certain she could feel him now, pressing against her back, his member twitching with his own increasing need as he listened to her breath quicken and a keening noise begin in her throat. She was rising rapidly and the desperation of her earlier frustrated orgasm was catching her. She needed release quickly, her hands gripping her dress tightly, pulling painfully against the material, the muscles in her arms tense. He instinctively sped up and pushed deeper, groaning as Clara pushed back against him for her pleasure and desperately trying to stop his own pelvis from moving in time with hers. He felt the heat flush his cheeks and his breathing match hers and slammed his eyes shut against the increasingly erotic sight in front of him.

She was moaning now, unable to hold back the sounds coming from her lungs or the deep thrusts of her hips. He heard her say his name, repeating it softly under her breath until it broke through louder with the coming waves of climax. Her breath was shortening, becoming shallow, and her body tensing against him, rubbing him through the single layer of his tunic, making him feel that his own release was near and then suddenly she was there, calling out in his arms as she thrust down harder onto his hand and panted harshly against his neck. She moved her head and in the last moments of her climax seized his lips in hers, her tongue thrusting deep into his mouth, the taste of her sweet and intoxicating.

The Doctor broke away and watched as Clara slumped, relieved, into his arms.

It was all he could do to stop himself from tipping over the edge at the sight of her, and even then he had to remain still against her as she recovered for fear the slightest movement would reveal his agonising arousal to her. After a few minutes of trailing her fingers over the back of his hand gently she looked round somewhat blearily and nuzzled his cheek.

‘Are you ok?’ she whispered and he could have sworn she nudged against his straining member deliberately. He bit his lip and nodded and she had the good grace not to pursue the topic further. Clara rose from the cushions and smoothed her dress down, unsure quite where to look or what to say.

‘Are you?’ he said.

‘Yes… Um… thanks,’ she said, ‘is thanks the right thing to say?’

The Doctor averted his eyes aware that what they had just done had crossed certain lines whatever the reason behind it might be and those lines were now very, very obvious. He hunched forward in an attempt to hide his discomfort, ‘I’m not sure, I haven’t really been in this position before,’ he admitted. ‘Do you feel… better…?’

‘It’s um… taken the edge off,’ she said with a hint of guilt. Just taken the edge off. That and no more. She really did have it bad.

‘It’s OK Clara I won’t take offence if you still feel…’ he reassured her.

‘It’s just it… doesn’t last… I just get all worked up again…’

‘It’s the spores…’ or maybe it was him, maybe in her anger she had been right and he wasn’t enough for her. He thought of Caecilius and felt that trickle of jealousy again. He passed a hand through his hair feeling frustrated on more than one level.

She seemed to sense his self-doubt. ‘I don’t want you thinking it… wasn’t good or something,’ she blushed, ‘because it was. Good.’

‘Right.’

Well this was awkward.

‘TARDIS?’ she gestured out of the curtains.

‘Um… could you…’

‘What?’

He hesitated, there were quite a few things he wished he could ask for at that point but, no…

‘Just give me a minute… I um…’ he said with the unfortunate result that Clara immediately dropped her eyes to his groin and swallowed at what she saw there. She met his gaze again briefly and then after a few seconds of displacement activity, excused herself. He could already see her arousal building once more in the heat of her face and her huge brown eyes, she’d soon be climbing the walls again.

How long had he said it would last? Another three days? Was it two days yet? He had to think of new measures to keep her safe until this was over. Her TARDIS stealing and orgy crashing had only proven that she was impulsive and vulnerable, he really didn’t think he had any option to but to put into place greater safety methods.

The Doctor wandered through the crowd and back towards the ship, distracted by thoughts of the Quarantine Bay and his own aching discomfort beneath his tunic. He really should get himself scanned, he was beginning to feel pretty desperate himself. He had half formulated a plan to keep Clara contained when the TARDIS doors flew open before him and she emerged, a look of panic on her face.

‘What is it?’ he asked, ‘Don’t think you’re joining the party again because…’

‘No it’s not that…. Look,’ she gestured behind her in the console room and he peered past her.

Oh Gods.

‘I think we might have a little contamination problem,’ Clara said sheepishly and then looked at the floor of the Roman Villa at the Doctor’s feet, ‘And it’s spreading.’

He followed her line of sight. A small blue mushroom popped up between the tiles of the Caecilius’ corridor. The console room was already full of them.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Day Three, 48 Hours Since Infection

Frengalian mushrooms were stubborn things. The Doctor straightened up and clutched at his lower back with a groan. He’d lost track of the hours he’d spent removing fungus from the console room floor, its steps, its bannisters and shelves. His white decontamination suit was stifling and crinkled annoyingly as he moved. His visor kept steaming up and his sonic had run out of power twice from blasting the damned things into oblivion. His sonic never ran out of charge, well hardly ever, but the power it took to shift these things was incredible.

And he had no idea how they were growing. The TARDIS floor wasn’t organic, it wasn’t made of soil, but yet there they were springing up all over the place and enlarging with such rapidity that as soon as he cleared one side of the balcony they’d regrown on the other.

Still, nearly there. Just a couple more to go. He rubbed at his lumbar spine. Gods he was uncomfortable. The events of the day were really taking their toll and he could do with a long soak and some private time to regain his equilibrium. The private time especially was becoming rather… pressing.

‘Can I do anything?’ Clara asked from the door to the rest of the TARDIS.

He had an immediate image of her gently washing his back in a huge TARDIS tub.

‘No,’ he said in an overly certain tone.

She hovered, eyeing up the singed remains of mushrooms.

‘How are they growing?’ she asked curiously.

‘I don’t know, they are ridiculously virile things. You must have brought some spores in with you when you came back from Julient III but I didn’t think they’d take like this.’

‘If they are so virile why was there only that one big mushroom on the planet?’

Trust Clara to ask pesky questions when he was having so much trouble thinking straight.

‘The locals take precautions so they don’t overpopulate the planet, culture it just so in just the right soil so that the environment prevents them spreading.’

‘Oh,’ she said. He looked at her. She was wearing sensible pyjamas that covered everything, and a thick robe, tied tightly, and her hair was wet from a recent shower. So far so good she had done what she was told.

‘Have you been to the Medi Bay?’ he asked.

‘Not yet.’

‘Clara…’ he waved his arms.

‘I’ll go!’

‘You had better, goodness knows what you’ve picked up in Rome, you could have caught something.’

Clara rolled her eyes at him. He bent slightly and aimed the sonic at one of the last remaining mushrooms. ‘You shouldn’t be in here while I’m doing this, the spores are flying around.’

‘I’m already infected, don’t think it could make things worse.’

‘Let’s hope not,’ he zapped the fungus and it splattered over his suit, a mix of blue and clear juices laced with gold. He could feel her eyes on him and his skin tingled. Slowly he straightened up.

‘You look stiff,’ she said suddenly.

‘What?!’

‘Your back.’

‘Oh… well, yes… a bit.’ He aimed at another mushroom.

‘We could go to that nice spa planet and soak in the lake?’ she suggested.

‘We’re not going anywhere Clara, we’re a huge timetravelling fungus distributing machine currently. It’s bad enough it’s sprung up in Rome, can’t have it growing on other planets, it’ll turn the whole history of the universe on its head.’

‘That’s a bit dramatic,’ she said moving slowly round the room.

‘Is it?’ he gestured to the TARDIS monitor, ‘See for yourself.’

Clara shuffled in her slippers over to the console and read the screen, her eyes going wide.

‘And that’s just in Rome,’ the Doctor remarked, ‘Look at the state of Europe by the 3rd Century AD, massive population explosions, famine, war. Once I clear out this place I’m going to have to go back to that villa and get every last one of these out of the grouting before we’re to blame for the end of civilisation.’

‘I can help,’ Clara said, her guilt obvious in her voice.

‘No you can’t. You’re infected and… easily distractible. You’re going to go to your room as we agreed and stay there.’

‘But…’

‘No!’ he heaved himself up from where he had been decontaminating a low shelf and moaned.

‘That suit looks uncomfortable,’ Clara said approaching him, ‘What’s it made of?’

‘Plastic,’ he groaned.

Clara looked unimpressed.

‘It’s just as good at keeping out spores as any fancy futuristic fabric!’ he exclaimed, ‘It can’t be glamourous all the time.’

She smirked at his decidedly unglamorous look and then tapped his steamed up visor.

‘Warm in there is it?’

‘Shut up. It’s unbearable, the sweat’s running off me, but I’m stuck in it until this lot are cleared. Last thing we need is me getting infected too.’

There was a very slight motion in one of Clara’s eyebrows and he glared at her through his visor. ‘Sorry,’ she said backing down on her cheekiness and then her face changed suddenly. ‘You must be so angry with me.’ Oh no, another swing of fungus led emotions was on its way he could sense it.

‘Why angry?’ he distractedly wiped some blue former fungus goop from the leg of his suit. The emotions thing was tricky and he wasn’t in the best frame of mind to be sensitive.

‘I brought it on board. I’ve apparently almost destroyed civilisation. You’ve had to wear that plastic thing for hours while you kill the mushrooms and… and earlier… earlier when you… I… we…’

He felt the heat rise to his cheeks and turned away, busying himself with a stray fungus. Clara’s hand came to rest on his back.

‘I haven’t been myself,’ she said plaintively, ‘I’m worried I made you do something you didn’t want to, or weren’t comfortable with… I’m sorry. Are we… are we OK?’

‘We’re fine, Clara.’ She lowered her hand slightly and pressed more firmly against his spine eliciting a soft moan from him.

‘Let me make it up to you,’ she said and started rubbing his back.

Immediately his brain fired off in a thousand different directions which all led to the same place. And then it short circuited. Other bits of his body came into play instead.

‘Um… Clara…’

She rubbed harder and a delicious shot of pleasure raced down his spine. Damn the restricting hot and overly tight decontamination suit. He leaned forward onto a banister and braced himself.

‘I’m only rubbing your back, nothing… suggestive.’

‘Clara in your frame of mind it will soon turn suggestive.’

Was that her frame of mind or his, he couldn’t tell anymore.

‘Shh…’

Two hands now, her thumbs pressing into his spine and her fingers working his muscles through the suit, crinkling noises wafting up to his ears. His visor steamed further and he cursed making her giggle behind him and he could help but smile a little. It felt good and the tension began to leave him and he was half considering the spa planet after all when he felt her push up against him, work her palms over his hips and round… and what was he doing letting her do that!

‘Clara!’

‘Sorry!’ she sprang back, ‘Sorry I… Oh God it just creeps up on me….’

‘Quarantine, Clara,’ he said, turning to her. She pouted. ‘Go!’

‘Going,’ she said sadly.

He zapped the final mushroom and reset the sonic to cleaning mode. He had to get the place spore free and be certain of successful decontamination. And then he had to start on Rome.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Day Four, 2am, fifty-six hours since Infection.

Rome had been a difficult business. Waiting until the revellers had worn themselves out or drunk themselves into a stupor the Doctor had then had to pick his way through their unconscious and largely naked bodies while eradicating tiny mushrooms. Luckily they grew more slowly here than on board the TARDIS but even so it had taken a good few hours of scrupulous work to remove them. A good few hours of his stifling suit, sore back and increasingly urgent… other needs.

Just what was going on? Why was he so heated? He traipsed back into the ship and slammed the door behind him in an irritable display. His private quarters were calling him but he supposed he had better check that he had averted the end of civilisation by mushroom. He punched keys at the console and checked the monitor. Good, the world no longer appeared to end in a flurry of famine in 300AD. He pulled off his visor and dumped it on the controls, his heavy gloves followed and he pushed a hand through his sweaty hair as he pressed a few more keys in ill temper. No wars, no other suspicious natural disasters, no population explosion.

Except in Rome in 81AD.

What?

A localised population explosion nine months after Pompeii man’s orgy. Well he supposed that could happen. But really that was some explosion, almost a full one hundred percent, how was that even possible? He squinted at the screen, he was sure he’d got all the mushrooms, the sonic hadn’t located any more in the area. Just where was this coming from? There had to be an explanation but…

… Gods he couldn’t think straight. He shut his eyes and groaned, the tremor of electricity shooting downward from his belly making his knees a little weak. It was all Clara’s fault. Except it wasn’t she was helpless at the mercy of the fungus and he’d only wanted to help. He had no excuse for the throb of flesh beneath his suit, other than the recurrent image of Clara panting against his neck and moaning his name. Again he pushed his hand through his hair, holding it there a moment while his eyes stayed resolutely closed.

Just stop thinking about it.

No he couldn’t.

He growled. Ok he was going to have to sort this like a man. In private.

But the population explosion in Rome…

To hell with that he needed to…

The memory of Clara’s lips on his suddenly, her tongue in his mouth, that sweet taste…

Wait! His eyes flew open. Wait there didn’t need to be mushrooms. A localised spread of the fungus spores could just as easily be achieved by contact, intimate contact, body fluids no less. Clara had been with Pompeii and then Pompeii had clearly been with everyone else at the party. Without mushrooms to sustain the infection rate it very probably would die down eventually but it would explain the sudden surge in pregnancies over the following year.

He congratulated himself for working it out and then his hearts skipped a beat in panic.

It also explained why he was feeling the way he was feeling. He glanced at his suit, no obvious tears or holes, the only way he could have been infected was by her kiss.

Oh no. No, not this again. Not another week of this. It had been bad enough the first time and he hadn’t had a companion on board to tempt him. He’d never survive it. What was he going to do?

Right first things first check if you’re actually infected. The Doctor began peeling the top half of the suit off to reveal a pale T-shirt below and made his way to the Medi Bay. He’d scan himself and get to the bottom of this. He still held out a faint hope that he wasn’t infected or that he would have at least some level of immunity. But then he always had had a tendency to try and delude himself. He reached the Medi Bay door and stopped. Clara was in there, perched in the big chair that doubled as the TARDIS MultiScanner, a green light circling her and readings coming up on a nearby screen.

‘What are you doing it’s the middle of the night?’ he asked, annoyed that she was there to witness his distracted state.

‘Couldn’t sleep,’ she replied, ‘For um… reasons… three guesses as to what.’

He sighed and crossed the room, ‘So you’re running the scan?’ he said.

‘I told you I’d do it… Look!’ she pointed at the screen, ‘No syphilis.’

‘Consider yourself lucky, ancient Rome was rife with disease,’ he commented.

She looked at him curiously. ‘You look… sweaty.’

A glare.

‘Just saying,’ she quipped hopping up from the chair. ‘Well I’m fine apparently, apart from the Fungus thing.’

‘How’s that er… feeling?’ he asked. ‘Since we… I…’

‘It felt better… for quite a while actually,’ she confirmed.

‘Good.’ Maybe she was getting over it, fighting it off.

‘Getting worse again now,’ she said, her eyes wandering over his damp T-shirt and his mussed up hair. He swallowed and sat in the scanner, programming it quickly to thoroughly investigate his current problem.

Clara frowned. ‘Why are you scanning yourself?’ she said suspiciously. ‘I thought you didn’t participate in the orgy.’

‘I didn’t!’ he sounded outraged.

‘Then why are you…. Wait…. Oh…’ she breathed a little too knowingly.

‘Oh what?’

‘Are you worried you’re infected?’

The green light began circling him and the first readings started popping up on the screen. A three dimensional image of his body began to take shape with different tones and colours depicting organs and areas of temperature variation. He focused on the picture and ignored her.

‘You are aren’t you?’ Clara grinned, ‘Are you feeling a bit… you know?’

‘Shut up.’

A full on laugh from his companion. He glowered at her.

‘This is not amusing Clara, I’ve had this before and know what to expect and its torment.’

‘I know that, I’ve still got it!’

‘Yes well, you… got a little respite…’ he said quietly.

‘Who’s to say I wouldn’t help you out in that position?’ Clara said a little brazenly.

He looked at her sharply then blushed and looked back at the screen. The blood flow to certain organs was markedly increased as demonstrated by glowing brightly. He groaned and covered his mouth with one hand as he watched the machine scan for spores.

‘I wouldn’t just leave you stranded,’ Clara was saying, ‘Not after you helped me…’ she approached him softly and he shifted in the chair. The image on the screen gave away the exact nature of his discomfort and Clara giggled. ‘Oh look at you, it’s all lit up like Blackpool tower.’

‘Shut up,’ he repeated trying to sit so that his appendage didn’t glow quite so obviously on screen.

The scan finished and the results flashed up.

He stared at the monitor like it had betrayed him.

He _was_ infected. Early stages. The worst of it would hit in a few hours and then it would be unbearable. Aware of Clara hovering close by, and oddly aware of her scent and every tiny sound she made, he got up and put some distance between them.

‘So looks like you might need that help after all,’ she teased, her voice wicked.

‘Clara, it would simply not be appropriate for us to… I mean for you to…’

‘Why not?’

‘Don’t start this again, it just wouldn’t be,’ he ground his teeth. He was going to have to go and lock himself away somewhere. Have the TARDIS bolt him in a room until the infection had passed. Make it quite clear to her that neither of them was to come in contact with the other until they were clear, that on absolutely no account must they be put in a position where the fungus could lead them to take advantage of one another in any way or do anything that might jeopardise their friendship.

The door to the Medi Bay slammed shut suddenly.

‘Quarantine initiated,’ the TARDIS announced.

‘What?’ Clara said, looking round.

The TARDIS must have picked up on some of his thoughts. Pity she’d acted on the first without hearing out the rest.

‘I meant Quarantine us _separately_ ,’ the Doctor sighed, ‘It’s hardly helpful quarantining us together.’

‘Oh I don’t know…’ Clara moved closer and placed one hand on his bare arm, ‘Depends what you mean by helpful, I mean it’s not like we can hurt anyone here, or spread it to other species or fly the TARDIS to brothel planets,’ she smiled, ‘There’s only us.’

‘Clara… no…. the potential for cross or reinfection… we could end up being in here forever.’

She stood on tiptoe slightly and he knew looking into her deep brown eyes that the fungus had well and truly taken a hold of her again, that whatever benefit she had had from his touch earlier had now worn off. ‘There’s worse things,’ she said, ‘I think it could be fun.’

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Day 4. Sixty Two Hours since Infection.

‘Doctor…’ her voice was wheedling. He shut his eyes and leaned his head against the wall of the Medi Bay in an attempt to ignore her. ‘Doctor…’ she said again, this time dropping her tone into one of quite blatant seduction. ‘Oh for God’s sake,’ she snapped suddenly. He opened one eye a crack and watched as Clara huffed and lay back on the medical couch, crossing her arms and staring at the ceiling in frustration. ‘We’ve both got it, we’re both symptomatic, we’re friends, we trust each other, why don’t we just…’

‘No,’ he said and closed his eye again.

‘Coward.’

‘Don’t start that again.’

He resumed his position and tried to clear his mind of wayward thoughts. It was getting worse. So much worse and the decontamination suit with its stifling material wasn’t helping. He was hot and sticky and unbearably hard and everything ached. He bit his lip and tried to distract himself, tried to stop himself shifting about, the coil of desire tight in his guts and his breathing just a little too fast. Gods he felt desperate, why hadn’t he just skipped scanning himself, accepted he was infected and gone to his room. At least there he could relieve some of the pressure. Instead he was stuck in here with Clara who only served to make him feel worse. He flicked his eyes in her direction again and watched the rise and fall of her breasts with her angry frustrated breathing.

No, stop looking.

He twitched involuntarily inside his suit and groaned before he realised it.

‘Getting bad is it?’ she asked casually although her tone was definitely strained.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Superior Time Lord self-control?’ she said sarcastically.

He refused to reply. Oh it was getting really bad. He leaned forward and the movement made him wince pleasurably. He whimpered. He leant his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands. He had to talk himself down, he was starting to get to the point where this might get the better of him, where his body might just take control, where he might disgrace himself in front of Clara and he’d never live it down.

‘Urgh!’ Clara let out a strangled cry and thrashed on the couch in annoyance. He’d been so busy focusing on himself he’d failed to notice her own growing needs. ‘Doctor,’ her tone had softened a little, ‘Please, just like you did before, please? I’ll… I’ll return the favour… we’d just be helping each other… it doesn’t have to get all complicated.’

‘Don’t…’ he warned and heard her hop down from the couch and pad over. She slid down next to him and suddenly there was a small hand on his forearm, stroking back and forth gently. He let out a low growl.

‘Let me help…’ she said softly.

‘No…’

‘Why are you so difficult!’ she yelped suddenly, removing her hand. ‘We’re stuck in here! We’ll be stuck in here for days, feeling like this! I can’t bear it… it’s… it’s…’ and she was crying. He looked up in surprise and there she was tears flowing down her face and sobs wracking her body. Oh no, not the crying, he was helpless against the crying. And he wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t start himself.

‘Please,’ she sobbed.

He looked at the ceiling as though he might find an answer there. Clara made a snuffling noise beside him. He preferred her when she was angry. He might even prefer her throwing herself at Romans. The first sacred him and the second made him jealous but the crying, the crying made his hearts ache. At the bottom of all of this was one big problem. He loved her. He loved her and he didn’t want her to hurt or feel so frustrated she cried. But he also didn’t want to take advantage, break any moral code or heaven help him do anything which could be interpreted as using her. She was begging him but she wasn’t in her right mind and neither was he. He was desperate for her but he had to hang on to the last rational shred of his brain and fight the overwhelming desire to pull her into his arms right now and make love to her.

Because it would be good. It would be really good. He was a fantastic lover, skilled and experienced and anatomically enhanced. She wouldn’t be disappointed, it would most likely be the best sex she’d ever have but…

…but he was her friend. And when she wasn’t infected he was fairly sure she didn’t see him that way and so…

….so he couldn’t.

Oh Gods he could weep.

But she was ahead of him there and without warning started snuggling up against him by the wall and sniffling onto his shoulder. She felt warm and solid and her little body was shaking with the tears and he automatically pulled her against him before he realised and then…

And then she was kissing him again and it was escalating fast. Deep powerful kissing, hands pulling at her pyjamas and his ridiculous suit, forcing the crinkling fabric down over his hips, pulling away her bottoms, pushing her to the floor, kissing and nipping her, murmuring promises, oh it was going to be so good, so good, she’d never had a Time Lord, it was going to be incredible. The ache that had been in his gut for the last few hours now tore like fire down his hard length and he groaned into her neck as her hips came up and her legs wrapped round him and she was pulling him into position, desperate and needy, angling herself so that he could enter her fast, thrusting once, twice, three times.

Oh no.

Oh _Gods._

The shout he let out was tight and raw and short and his hips came to a sudden halt as he emptied himself inside her.

There was a heavy and accusing silence followed by a puff of dissatisfaction from Clara.

‘Sorry,’ he breathed against her, ‘That’s um… that’s never happened before.’

She pushed him off her. ‘So much for Time Lords being superior.’

‘It’s been a while…’

The Doctor covered himself up self consciously and refastened his now even more uncomfortable plastic suit pants. Clara yanked her pyjama top down over her hips and folded her arms. She stared at the opposite wall.

‘Clara…’

‘Shut up!’ she snapped.

‘But…’

‘Just shut up.’

He retreated into himself miserably, the worst of his arousal now dampened while hers blazed next to him. He wanted to make it up to her, he knew he was capable of that at least but the signals she was giving off were so violent he daren’t touch her and anyway he couldn’t’ believe they’d just done that and now she was so angry. He was pretty sure he’d just confirmed his own theory that if they took things too far everything would be ruined. She was frustrated and fed up with him now, but if she fought off this infection in the next few hours as he suspected she might, he was fairly sure she’d hate him.

Idiot Doctor. Blasted Fungus. Messing with his emotions, playing with hers.

He was thankful she continued to glare across the room. That way she wouldn’t see him cry.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Day 4 sixty eight hours since infection.

He was lying on the floor of the medi-bay attempting to meditate and resist the growing symptoms of the Frengalian Fungus. At first he’d been so miserable about the situation with Clara that it was fairly easy to ignore but now he had to admit things were getting difficult again.

Clara had remained on the couch for the larger part of the previous few hours since… well since the Fungus got the better of both of them and led to the utter disaster that had been their first time. For a thousand years he had pictured the possibility that he might one day make love to her but he’d never envisaged such a catastrophe. The centuries, his fraught emotions and the spores had ruined everything. If she ever even forgave him he knew things were now changed forever. Their relationship, her view of him, his confidence; even his fantasies would be tainted by his feelings of unworthiness and failure. Every time he thought about it a bit of him wanted to die, he was amazed he hadn’t regenerated entirely.

He’d avoided her gaze as best he could but around an hour ago he had dared to glance across and seen that she was asleep. This gave him a mix of hope and despair. If she was sleeping she was almost recovered, sleep was an impossibility while the spores had control of her desires, but equally sleep meant she’d be waking soon and when she did her mind would be clear and she’d probably hate him.

He’d closed his eyes again and braced himself for the awkwardness that was sure to come.

‘Doctor?’ her voice was barely a whisper, ‘Doctor are you awake?’

Here we go, his hearts sank. He opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling, ‘Yes,’ he replied deciding to keep it simple.

‘Are you… you know… are you still feeling…?’

‘Yes. I’ve only been infected around twenty four hours, I have a long way to go.’

‘Oh…’ she didn’t sound angry which was an improvement but she didn’t sound very happy either. He heard movement and slowly turned his head to see her sit in the scanner. ‘I think I’m better,’ she said cautiously, ‘I dozed off.’ He watched her punch the controls and trigger the green light.

‘Good,’ he said, ‘That’s good.’

There was a silence as the scanner rotated and then Clara checked the screen. ‘No infection,’ she said rather emotionlessly.

‘Quarantine lifted,’ the TARDIS announced suddenly in response. Clara glanced at the door to see it unlock and then looked directly at the Doctor. The glassy eyed feverishness of her earlier appearance was gone, replaced instead with fatigue and something else he couldn’t quite read.

‘You should get some rest,’ he said, ‘You’re free to leave the Medi Bay via the decontamination shower. Best not take the ship anywhere for a bit though.’

‘What about you?’ her voice was still quiet.

‘I’ll be here a while yet,’ he said. Another few days probably. On his own. Tormented. And for the first time in all of this the psychological torment was proving to be greater than the physical. He still couldn’t think straight and he didn’t know how to fix this.

The soft sound of fabric moving and he was aware that Clara had come to sit next to him again. Despite him efforts his body reacted and he moaned quietly to himself as he scrabbled to sit up and away from her a little. This is how it had all happened before. There was not going to be a repeat, not a chance.

Oh he ached, he ached and his emotions were summersaulting painfully. He felt overly warm and overly sticky in his suit and everything was uncomfortable.

Clara close by, concern coming off her like waves. ‘Is it really bad?’ she asked, her big eyes casting over him to try and read his expression.

He said nothing. He couldn’t look at her. He didn’t deserve her sympathy.

‘Doctor…’ she drew a breath, ‘I’m sorry about before, I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings….I was selfish. I sulked. I just got so frustrated. It was the spores I swear… they…’

‘I know what they do Clara, both physically and emotionally, I’m not angry. Not at you…’ he added softly.

She chewed her lip and blushed, ‘Not angry maybe but hurt, I’ve said some horrible things the last few days, I’ve been cruel, belittled you, made you feel… inadequate.’

He squirmed, the conversation was agonising. She had made him feel inadequate yes, but mainly because he was. At least he felt so. He thought back to the vow he’d made when he realised she was infected. He would be a gentleman. Well he’d slipped up a bit there but it was time to get back on track.

‘Look, Clara, you were infected, it warped a lot of things, made you say things you didn’t mean, do things you’d never dream of doing… I understand that. It’s time to move on, get some rest…’

‘But you’re still…’

She stopped and looked down at her hands, changed her tone of voice slightly, ‘Doctor this is silly, I know exactly how you’re feeling right now because I felt it too over the last few days and it’s awful. I want to help.’

His Clara, always wanting to help.

‘The best thing for me Clara is to closest myself in here for a few days. Alone. It’ll pass.’

‘It’ll be torture.’

He shifted against the wall. ‘It’s arousal Clara it’s not the end of the world.’

‘Now you’re just being stubborn.’

He could feel himself getting irritable. Irritable and distracted by the scent of her skin and the warmth he could feel coming off it. He was over sensitised and increasingly needy and she really had to leave because he could feel his hands itching to touch her again and he wasn’t sure how long he could control things.

‘I’ m not being stubborn Clara, I’m trying to… to…’ he put his head in his hands. He didn’t know what he was trying to do and he felt like crying again. He could feel her looking at him pityingly and he hated it. ‘I’m trying to be a good man,’ he said weakly.

Her hand closed over one of his and his mind began racing. He wanted her. He shouldn’t want her. Yes, no, yes, no. He felt his stomach churn and his skin was on fire. Despite his best efforts his breathing was picking up and his hearts were hammering. He squirmed against himself.

Oh Gods he wanted her so badly. But… but…. But…

His mind went blank and he couldn’t think anymore.

‘You don’t want to damage our friendship,’ Clara said, voicing his aborted thoughts for him, ‘You’re worried all this is the product of the spores and we’ll wake up in a few days full of regrets and awkwardness.’

‘Yes,’ he said grateful for her ability to paraphrase his overwrought brain.

‘Doctor…. I’m free of the infection,’ she said carefully.

‘Yes you are, but I’m not.’

‘So I’m thinking straight, right?’ she went on.

‘But _I’m_ not.’

Clara sighed impatiently. ‘I’m offering to help you, _offering,_ of my own spore free will, I want to. You helped me.’

‘But… I…’ he groaned, he couldn’t think.

‘Doctor when I was in Rome you came and found me, told me you needed to protect me from myself.’

‘Yes exactly! Spores are mind altering. My mind is alerted, I can’t be trusted.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she snapped, ‘I can completely trust you. You came to Rome because you didn’t want me to end up being used or taken advantage of or get myself into trouble.’

‘Yes,’

‘And you agreed to help me, you touched me….’

If possible he grew warmer at the memory and more conflicted. He hadn’t been sure it was the right thing to do then, but he cared for her and couldn’t bear to see her so tormented.

‘And what else?’ Clara pushed, ‘What else were you worried about?’

‘I didn’t… I couldn’t…’

‘You couldn’t see me with someone else,’ she spelled out.

He swallowed. He hadn’t meant for that to be obvious. ‘No, I mean… I…’

‘And you _weren’t_ infected then…’ she went on.

‘No, but I….’

‘You _weren’t_ infected and you chose to help me.’

‘Yes.’

‘So I don’t think what you feel is all down to the spores is it?’ she finally said.

He chanced another look at her, sitting beside him looking decidedly uninfected and rational.

‘It was there before,’ Clara clarified, ‘What you feel. It’s just… well it’s just magnified isn’t it? The physical side… that’s why you’re so worried, because you’re _not_ going to wake up from this spore free and the feelings will be gone. You’re worried you’ll keep feeling the same and I will be spore free and _not_ be interested any more...?’

He felt flustered. Caught, found out and flustered. She was right of course, his feelings for her had been there since the first time he laid eyes on her, long before he regenerated into the man he was now. All of the preceding year he’d struggled with them, tried to cope with the way her feelings had changed, her new boyfriend, and he hadn’t done very well, behaving like a jealous child and driving her to distraction. And then she’d come with him back to the TARDIS and he was just so grateful and so happy and he didn’t want to risk ever rocking that boat because if he lost her again he didn’t think he’d cope. Yes he loved her, and his jealousy had reared up again in Rome. But it’s what she felt that mattered, not him.

‘Clara…’

‘Well…’

‘Even if you’re right, even if my feelings... for you… predate this…. Your feelings for me… I don’t want you to... you don’t see me that way… I shouldn’t have … I took advantage…’

She just sat there looking at him like he was the stupidest man in the universe and he felt his panic increase.

‘We shouldn’t have done it, I couldn’t stop myself…’ he started.

‘I didn’t stop you either…’

‘You were infected.’

‘I’m not anymore.’

‘Clara…’

‘I am not infected… _anymore_ ,’ she said firmly, ‘And I still want to do this.’

‘Do what….?’

‘Doctor!’ she despairingly ran her hands through her hair and gesticulated in frustration.

‘I… Clara Oswald, of my own free will,’ she said, ‘Want to….’

He looked at her and caught her gaze bare and open.

‘I want to have sex with you,’ she rushed out. ‘There, I said it, I want to, and I’m not infected. And you want to even when _you’re_ not infected, so let’s just…’ she waved her hands… ‘Let’s just…’

He was utterly stunned and was aware that his mouth was hanging open at her declaration. Was he just imagining now what he wanted to hear? Could he really take what she was saying at face value with these spores in his bloodstream? His brain short circuited again and he felt like tearing his hair out, he was so torn and confused and…

…and Clara’s lips were on his again, her tongue in his mouth. And this time she didn’t taste sweet, she tasting of Clara and it was even more intoxicating.

‘Oh Gods…’ he moaned between kisses. Her hands were undoing his suit again and reaching for him, he could feel himself bucking into her again and the surge of desire which had overwhelmed him the last time was back. He tried to protest, push her hands away, delay the inevitable, please let him be able to delay it, please don’t let him humiliate himself again, please…

Clara’s laughter in his ear, her hand still inside his suit and him panting against her neck, spent. Oh he wanted to die all over again. He wanted to weep.

‘Hey…’ she whispered, her voice smiling and kind, ‘It’s OK… that’s what this flirty fungus does, I should know,’ she pulled back and winked at him, ‘You’ll be ready for round two in a minute.’

‘Clara,’ he moaned sadly.

‘Round two… and three and four…’

She kissed him again.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Day 8. One hundred and eighty six hours since initial Infection.

‘This time,’ he was saying, panting slightly, ‘This time it’s going to be perfect.’

Beneath him Clara erupted into laughter, ‘This time Doctor,’ she patted him on the shoulder, ‘You go for it.’ She caught his eye and smirked and it took him all his effort not to collapse into giggles.

‘When I get over this, Ms Oswald, you are not going to know what’s hit you.’

‘You’ve been doing pretty well as it is,’ she said.

‘Well I can do even better…’ he bent and kissed her neck, pulling her closer in his arms, feeling her legs wrap round his hips, her pelvis nudge up against him encouragingly. He hissed needily. ‘Stop trying to put me off…’ he accused.

He’d lost track of time, which wasn’t a new experience for him, but the preceding three or possibly four days had begun to merge into one long and intensely pleasurable memory. Clara he knew had been forced to sleep on a number of occasions and had also insisted on eating a few times but other than that appeared to be keeping up rather well given she was no longer infected and he had been riding out the peak of his Fungus problem. The first day or so had been an abject disaster as far as he was concerned, the slightest touch and it was over and he’d tried every form of distraction technique known in the universe. But she’d not once been angry and as a result he’d felt relaxed enough to make sure he made it up to her on a regular basis before they started again, his desire refusing to be sated for long.

Luckily Clara was both a generous, patient and surprisingly gifted lover … for a human, although he’d shown her a few things which had made her eyes pop. He doubted many would have put up with his incapacity as she had, but such was their friendship and her ability to understand that she had done just that and more importantly he had trusted her to. To think he had feared the loss of that friendship as a result of this new intimacy, instead it had forged itself into something even stronger.

The Doctor felt his hearts skip in his chest, an odd fluttering which he hadn’t felt there for hundreds of years, something made of happiness and another unspoken emotion.

He nipped at her neck and made her wriggle and that made him grin. In the last twenty four hours things had been closer to perfect and the last scan he did as she slept had indicated that his Fungus titre was almost undetectable. Just another few hours and he’d be normal again.

‘You’re going to collapse at the end of this,’ Clara said as his mouth closed over her breast, ‘Four days, Doctor, four days, you’ll be exhausted.’

‘I don’t need sleep.’

‘I do… and I’m not sure I can walk…’

He looked up sharply, ‘Do you need to stop for a bit?’ he asked concerned.

She batted him playfully, ‘No I had a nap this morning, keep going.’

He trailed his tongue around her nipple and then sucked gently at it. ‘Sure?’ he asked, ‘Because I could just stop…’

‘Don’t you dare.’

He smiled against her skin and then kissed her belly gently. She smelt of him and it triggered something primal and possessive inside him. They’d given up on quarantine and moved to his room days ago and they’d barely had cause to leave since, the TARDIS thoughtfully providing them with essential food and fluids for the short breaks between their lovemaking. Clara was right though, they couldn’t keep this up forever, it would burn out, he just wanted to make sure these last few hours were particularly memorable.

He slid further down her body, his mouth trailing over her pubic hair and letting it tickle his nose. Clara shifted and he felt the humidity rise from her sex, warm against his skin, moist and intoxicating. His mouth watered and he felt his almost permanently hard member twitch. He placed his lips against her and moaned, the vibrations drawing a low groan from her and then flicked at her with his tongue while trying to ignore his growing need. His focus was on her and her alone, on the patterns he was drawing on her heated flesh, on the hitch in her breathing when he caressed her just there, on the way her hands were tangling in his hair, directing him, urging him on, her hips thrusting up despite the way his hands held her secure. She was almost there.

So he stopped. Stopped and pulled back. Crawled deliberately slowly up her body, his tongue passing over her stomach, the curve of her breasts, reaching her neck. He kissed her deeply, held her tight against him, let her feel how hard he was and how much he wanted her, let her squirm under him as his lips found her earlobe and nipped gently. She was saying his name. freely and of her own accord, not a spore in sight.

He felt a rush of pride and a need to be closer, to be in her, have her surround him. He asked for permission with the angle of his body and she granted it, letting him slide deep inside her, her muscles holding him, taking breath from him as he nuzzled against her neck and tried to regain control of the burning arousal along his length. He could feel it coiled at the base of it, taut throbbing, and willed it back down to a level he could direct. He’d promised her this time. He’d promised himself. And though he was certain she wouldn’t hold him to that promise, though he was sure she would be just as understanding, he was determined to make this time the one. This time he wouldn’t leave her behind as he rushed to his conclusion, this time he would take her with him.

He was moving cautiously, listening to her heartbeat and her breathing, feeling for the telltale twitches in her muscles when he hit the right spot. Her hands were at his back, her nails scratching at his shoulders, then in his hair, her thumb trailing to his lips so that he could suck on it and kiss her palm. Switching his mouth to hers, letting her dictate the pace and depth, holding himself entwined in her limbs, the stinging aching pleasure hot within him but still biddable. He was winning, and so was she. Her breathing becoming more ragged, her eyes closed in concentration and her hands now clasping him tight, he could feel her muscles working him, milking him, pulling him deeper into her with each thrust, and her body quivering under his.

‘Don’t stop…’ she whispered before she knew she’d said the words, ‘I mean… it’s ok… I just..’

‘I won’t stop,’ he assured her suddenly certain that he wouldn’t, that he was himself again finally and that Clara’s needs came first. He heard her keen slightly at his response and grind herself up into him, her movements becoming more frantic, more erratic, a charge of desperation in her voice. In the last few days he had brought her to climax on numerous occasions but never like this, never when deep inside her, feeling her orgasm begin from within, watching her under him coming apart, witnessing the absolute freedom with which she moved with him. He felt her contract around him slightly and his arousal spiked, he could feel his own release coming but she was ahead of him. His eyes on her face, his lips moving to her ear, smiling now, encouraging her with soft words and then she was calling out, her pelvis thrusting hard up into his and tipping him easily into his own release. He pumped hard into her, each forward movement drawing a deep cry from both of them before they finally slowed and came to rest, tangled and sweaty, the Doctor’s head buried against Clara’s neck.

‘I think I’m cured,’ he said.

 

 

Day 8 One hundred and ninety five hours since infection.

He’d been asleep. And not just a nap, not forty winks or a doze in his chair, he’d been properly, soundly asleep for around eight hours. The last thing he remembered was rolling off Clara and pulling her into a dazed and slightly damp cuddle before presumably passing out and sleeping off the last of the Frengalian infection. Now he was vaguely aware of her somewhere on the other side of the room, moving about, looking for something.

‘Clara, what are you doing?’ he asked, pushing his hands through his hair and propping himself up in bed.

‘Need my robe,’ she bent and located it by one of his bookcases, ‘TARDIS seems to think we are well enough to get our own breakfast now. Our usual pot of tea wasn’t here when I woke up.’

He snorted, ‘We must be better. I suppose the waffles aren’t there either.’

‘Nope,’ Clara emerged from the gloom of the other side of the bedroom, ‘And I suppose you’re wanting those.’

‘Only to ensure my complete recovery, you understand.’

She smirked as she closed the robe and tied its belt. ‘Exhausting few days,’ she said, ‘I swear I’ve lost weight…’

‘Better go and cook something then…’

She pulled a shocked face and clambered over the bed to exact some form of punishment but rather quickly got diverted, rolled over and kissed. Eventually he released her and she spent a moment tracing his cheekbones with the tips of her fingers, her gaze fixed on his.

‘I think I love you,’ she said out of nowhere.

He felt the back of his throat tighten and his eyes burn just a little, Clara caught his expression and kissed him gently.

‘I love you too,’ he confessed.

She smiled, ‘You’re just saying that because you’re still a bit emotional post Fungus.’

‘No, I’m not!’

‘I was giving you an out in case you got all embarrassed,’ she explained wearily, rolling her eyes.

‘Why would I be embarrassed about loving you? I’ve always loved you,’ he said seriously, his eyes unwavering.

‘Oh,’ she said in a small voice. He saw her bite her lip and her own emotions well up and then the moment passed. She sprang up from the bed and trotted to the door.

‘Breakfast!’ she called back over her shoulder. The Doctor settled back into the pillows and decided to wait for it to be brought to him. It would wind Clara up and they’d probably banter about her waiting on him and he’d make a protest that he was only just recovered and he’d expended an awful lot of energy of late and so really…

‘Doctor!’ her voice was an odd mixture of alarmed and amused, ‘Get out here!’

Curious he slid from the covers and pulled his own robe on quickly.

‘What is it?’ he asked wandering towards her voice and emerging into the console room, ‘TARDIS isn’t playing with you again is she… Oh..’

Clara stood by the controls with her arms folded glaring at him in a not altogether serious manner.

‘I thought you got them all?’ she asked.

‘I thought I did,’ he admitted gazing around at the forest of blue mushrooms that had sprung up while they had been busy in his room. ‘I must have missed one.’ He took a hesitant step forward. ‘Clara be very careful these ones have had a little time to mature, they look like they’re about to spore….’

He watched as she leaned over and stared meaningfully at a particularly large fungus. Its red balloon sporing pod throbbed purposefully and she held out a pointed index finger close to it.

‘Clara no….’

‘It looks ready to pop,’ she said.

‘It is… its ripe… Clara we’ve only just recovered… I don’t think this is a good idea,’ he edged between a few mushrooms and tried to get close enough to grab her hand but she was two steps ahead and placed the tip of her finger on the pod, ‘Clara….’ His voice warned, ‘Clara… no!’

The pod shrank back, quivered and then ejected its contents forcefully over both of them.

They stood for a moment with the clear liquid dripping from their faces and down over their robes, little flecks of gold shining in the console room lights. The Doctor glared at Clara and she looked at him in mock innocence, gathering a fingerful of the goop and sucking at it for its sweet taste.

‘Clara we’ll be stuck in here for weeks…’ he started, his voice shaking with effort as he tried not to laugh. ‘Possibly months _… years_!’

‘Oops,’ she said.

 

 


End file.
